


Mind the Gap

by KatieComma



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: And Keeps Everything Inside, But Derek is an Idiot, But Nothing Happens While Stiles is Underage, Derek is Derek, Derek is stubborn, Derek's wolf knows what's up, First Kiss, First Time, Get Together, He's a Total Emotional Mess, Idiots in Love, Kate Messed Him Up Bad, M/M, Mate Dynamic, Pining, underage mentioned, which is to say
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-26 08:14:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21370975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatieComma/pseuds/KatieComma
Summary: Derek is attracted to Stiles... but Stiles is 16... the feeling makes Derek sick, makes him think of Kate.Stiles throws himself at Derek... but it's wrong, so Derek walks away.But Stiles Stilinski is nothing if not persistent.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Kate Argent/Derek Hale mentioned
Comments: 35
Kudos: 538





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So... this is my first Teen Wolf fic... I sat down and watched three Sterek-centric episodes with lavendersblues, and then read SOOO much Sterek fic... and then this happened.
> 
> Please be kind, since this is my first foray into this fandom. I just... HAD to write it. I love them too much.

It sneaks up on Derek; catches him by surprise. Nothing catches Derek by surprise. Except Stiles Stilinski apparently. 

It starts innocently enough: a back and forth bickering and general annoyance with each other that slowly becomes fond. It goes from Derek being aggravated with Stiles, to being aggravated that Stiles is putting himself in danger _again_, to wanting to protect Stiles, to wanting Stiles around. At first it feels like friendship, a bond forged between the least likely of people. Derek doesn’t realize, but he holds that close. He doesn’t have friends. He hasn’t for a long time.

But then it changes, and the change is sudden, or maybe it’s not and Derek’s been ignoring it.

It’s the day Derek sees Stiles and suddenly want has replaced fondness. Replaced isn’t the right word. Want has _merged_ with fondness to become this torrent of emotion that swells Derek’s heart and makes him crave something. The wolf feels it too, the wolf howls inside at the prospect of being close to people. Close to someone. The wolf wants to nuzzle and hold and care for others. One particular other.

Stiles is 16. Derek wants to vomit.

It brings to the fore in his mind Kate Argent. The very second his body responds in a happy way to the sight of Stiles, Derek’s mind flickers to her. To the way Derek had looked at her with awe, in complete denial that a woman so worldly and sexy and beautiful and clever could want him. It’s the look of awe Stiles wears when he gazes at Derek, like he’s hung the moon. And Derek cringes inside, knowing just what it is to be taken advantage of at such a tender age.

He’s read studies on people who’ve been abused. Studies that link past abuse to future abusers. People do what they know, what they’ve experienced. That’s all it is. Derek was taken advantage of, and now he’s turning his abuse around and his twisted mind makes him see vulnerability and think: want, covet, possess, own. That’s all it is. 

And so Derek pushes his thoughts and instincts down inside. Stiles has a crush, and Derek refuses to acknowledge it. He won’t do to someone what was done to him. 

It’s easier than he expects. Despite the craving to touch and taste and, god, inhale Stiles’ scent to his core… each and every time he sees Stiles and those urges surface he thinks of Kate and his body gets angry instead of lusting. And so, it’s much easier than he expects. 

The wolf doesn’t agree, the wolf craves without consideration for the past. The wolf scents something and calls it: mate.

Stiles is 16. He’s not mate. Derek's wolf is wrong.

But the tension breaks anyway, the universe conspiring against Derek, or testing him, he’s not sure which.

He ingests wolfsbane. Concentrated. His body is vulnerable, wounded, burning to the core as his werewolf healing pushes the poison from his system. His wolf howls, inside and out, the noises coming from his human throat and frightening everyone else away: the animals of the forest, predators and prey alike. Even Scott runs.

But Stiles stays. Stiles comes close to snapping jaws and tearing claws and a body that can’t decide if it’s human or wolf and knows only pain.

It should be dangerous, but the wolf is happy to have someone it trusts nearby. And when the pain takes over, the wolf is in control. Derek sees and hears and experiences, and yet he feels like he’s drowning deep in the ocean with no hope of surfacing.

Stiles sits with him in the woods, his back against a tree. He pulls Derek close to him and says soft things. Stiles is brave: his heart is racing but he doesn’t smell like fear, he smells like concern. 

When the pain begins to subside, and the end of the agony is near, Derek gives into the wolf and nuzzles into Stiles’ neck, takes deep pulls of the scent from his body, tracing his nose along the artery in his neck, feeling the pulse jump under the skin. The world begins to grow dim, and the wolf goes back into hiding, claws and fangs retracting. Derek wraps his arms around Stiles and holds him tight. “Stiles,” tumbles from his lips before everything is dark.

The next morning is cool. He wakes outside. He wakes wrapped around someone who’s cold and shivering a little. Derek sits up with a jolt and lets go. Stiles is watching him, still smelling of concern, his heart rate spiking.

“Are you ok?” Stiles asks, even as his body trembles in little shivers.

“You’re cold,” Derek says simply, standing up and feeling just a little achy after the long night of suffering followed by dewy sleep.

“I’m fine,” Stiles protests, standing up stiffly. He takes a step toward Derek. “Are you alright man? You were pretty messed up last night and-”

“Let’s go,” Derek says simply before heading in the direction of the road. He can smell Stiles’ Jeep a mile away; stale spilled soda, and two week old cheeseburger wrappers.

Stiles drives him home in silence.

Derek gets out of the Jeep, and won’t meet Stiles’ eyes when he says a hurried “thank you” before he slams the door behind him.

Derek hears the driver’s side door open and close behind him, but he doesn’t look back.

Stiles steps close behind him. “I’m not afraid of you.” He says it like it's a threat.

Derek wants to smile because he can smell the fear. Wants to flash his eyes and bark and snap his teeth and frighten Stiles away. But he thinks the fear might not be of him and his wolf, but of rejection, and Derek’s wolf writhes under his skin trying to reach out for Stiles. Derek doesn’t let himself. He stands still, face as cold as he can make it, and turns to look at Stiles.

“Go home,” Derek says, refusing even to say Stiles’ name for fear that they'll both hear the craving in it. He turns his back and walks away.

“No. Come on dude,” Stiles bolts around him and gets in his way.

He should want to growl, want to force his way through, the wolf should crave dominance. Instead he wants to lay on the ground and show his belly. There is no threat here, the wolf insists, only - no, it’s not love or mate, it’s a 16 year old kid that he needs to walk away from. He forces a growl and bares his teeth, but it’s a sad attempt and Stiles’ mouth flickers into a bit of a smile.

“What happened back there... you can’t just pretend it was nothing,” Stiles argues. “I may be an idiot but I’m not stupid. Of course I think you’re hot, but come on, have you seen you? Like, do you own a mirror? But now, after yesterday I know it’s not just me, it’s-”

“No,” Derek says firmly. Too firmly, giving himself away.

“Yes, Derek! Come on!” Stiles argues, his heartbeat jumping with possibility and excitement.

“We are not talking about this,” Derek says, pushing past Stiles. “You’ve got a crush. No big deal. Let’s forget about this and move on.”

Stiles smells like despair, and he doesn’t say anything which is almost more telling than his scent.

Derek goes inside, closes the front door and leans back against it. He hears Stiles’ say softly: “I’m persistent. You’re not getting rid of me that easy.” He knows Derek hears him.

“Please no,” Derek pleads quietly to the dark.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Stiles' confession, things fall back into place; become normal again.
> 
> And years go by before the subject comes up again.

Time heals. Derek’s heard it, and never believed it because his wounds still run deep and still hurt. He heals on the surface, but there’s a lingering pain at the heart of him; the knife of the past twisting and twisting in his gut and it never goes away.

But time seems to heal Stiles, who doesn’t say a word the next time he sees Derek. Doesn’t bat an eyelash, doesn’t send an odd look in his direction.

And so things go back to normal. And they go on as friends, and Derek can only hope that he dashed Stiles hard enough against the rocks to dislodge him and let him sail on his way.

Until one random Saturday when there’s a knock at the door. Derek can hear the heartbeat, and already smell the familiar scent. Stiles. They’re around each other all the time, and even though it’s been years since that first confrontation, nothing more has happened. Stiles hasn’t pushed Derek for more. They’ve never even talked about it. Just continued being companionable, flirty sometimes, but Derek doesn’t have perfect control and in situations when his wolf is closer to the surface he can’t catch every little glance or touch.

“What?” Derek asks when he opens the door. It’s a bright fall afternoon, the sun beginning to sink toward the horizon, the air warm and slow like honey. He loves the fall, but he doesn’t let it show on his face. His defences are up. Stiles is alone.

“Happy birthday to me,” Stiles sings, pushing past Derek, “happy birthday to me. Happy birthday dear Stiles. happy birthday to me!” He ends dramatically, standing in the middle of the room with his arms open wide.

Derek closes the door and crosses his arms over his chest. He doesn’t lock the door. Soon he’s going to open it again and kick Stiles out. He smells a hint of arousal, and can hear excitement in the thrum of Stiles’ heart. Dangerous territory.

“I’m guessing it’s your birthday?” Derek asks, trying not to sound happy in any way, keeping his voice even.

“My oh my! Who told you? How did you know?” Stiles quips dramatically before he throws his backpack onto the couch. “Why yes, it is my birthday. You know, it’s customary on someone’s birthday to actually, wish them a happy birthday.”

Derek glares.

“Good enough,” Stiles smiles, “I’ll take it.”

“Stiles, what are you doing here?” Derek asks, ready to reach for the doorknob and say something rude.

“How old am I?” Stiles mocks. “So kind of you to ask! Well, it just so happens that this is my 18th birthday Derek.”

Derek’s hand stops halfway to the doorknob. He can’t move, he feels frozen.

Stiles takes a step closer. “My 18th... birthday,” he says again, more quietly. He takes another step. They’re too close. “Which means... that now, I’m a real adult and everything. Legal, I think the kids are calling it these days.” He gets bolder and takes another step forward.

“Stiles,” Derek hates himself for saying the name immediately, afraid it will give him away so completely that there’ll be no turning back.

“Yeah?” Stiles asks with a grin when he steps into Derek’s personal space bubble. The bubble that the wolf usually keeps sacred for those who are pack. “Yeah, Derek?” His breath is on Derek’s face. His scent is everywhere. His heart is jumping erratically.

Stiles is 18.

Two years is a long time. Stiles has changed. Grown. He’s taller now, broader, filled out in the shoulders. He’s smarter and cleverer than he was before. He’s seen some serious shit and not only lived through it, but helped to defeat it. He’s saved Derek’s life more than a few times. He’s got this ridiculous mess of hair that would feel great between Derek’s fingers, and if he pulled on it just a little-

“Get out,” Derek says.

Stiles’ face falls. “You’re not serious?”

“Don’t I look serious?” Derek asks. He turns the doorknob, but doesn’t open the door.

There’s real hurt in Stiles’ eyes while he searches Derek, looks deep to find the reason.

Derek was sure that two years had been plenty of time. That Stiles had moved on, gotten over his crush and moved on to greener, more available, more age appropriate pastures. Apparently not. And now...

Stiles is 18. An adult. Legal. Able to make his own decisions.

“I was sure...” Stiles trails off.

“Sure, what?” Derek asks, still not opening the door. Wanting to, but fighting his wolf for the privilege. With Stiles so close, in his space, smelling so good, it’s hard to do anything without the consent of his wolf.

“I was sure it was the age thing,” Stiles says.

It is. Stiles is only 18. Still young. Still vulnerable despite everything. Derek refuses to be Kate. He won’t become her.

“I thought,” Stiles continues, like he always does. “Once that was out of the way. Once I turned 18, you’d be...”

“What?” Derek growls. “All over you? Why would you think that? Where did you ever get the impression I feel anything but contempt and barely contained frustration toward you?” The words hurt Derek, but they cut to Stiles’ core; Derek can see it in his eyes. The howl of the wolf almost comes out Derek’s mouth. His eyes have changed, he can feel it. Hopefully Stiles will read it as anger, and not the regret and frustration that it is. “Now,” Derek grits his teeth, “get out.” He opens the door and flings it wide with little control.

Stiles’ face hardens. “This isn’t over!” He says angrily as he grabs his backpack from the couch and storms out, slamming the door behind him.

As soon as the door is shut Derek growls and roars at the empty room. Unless he immediately took off at a run, Stiles would have heard. But Derek can’t do anything about that now. His wolf wouldn’t be contained any longer.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few more years pass, and Derek runs into Stiles in the summer when he comes home from school to visit.

Derek thinks he’s ruined their friendship. But Stiles is stronger than that. The wolf has known that all along, even if Derek hasn’t been paying attention, too busy protecting and trying to keep Stiles safe.

Stiles doesn’t say another word, he lets Derek go. Derek can see it in his face, and he’s almost hurt that he doesn’t see pain in Stiles’ eyes whenever they talk. But Derek swallows that little bit of hurt down to the place where his past is constantly jabbing and throbbing with pain. He lets it all gather there and tries to pretend it doesn’t exist. He needs to be strong. Everyone needs him to be strong.

Somehow through it all their friendship stays in tact. Derek doesn’t put much effort in, it’s his wolf that wants it, his wolf that reaches a tender hand when Stiles gets hurt, his wolf that chokes out friendly words. Derek wants to push Stiles away and hope he never comes back, because being in the same room together is another torture that joins the pain he keeps inside. The longing to reach out and touch tenderly, knowing he’s wanted in return; the urge to hold Stiles close, and be held close; he wants so badly to press his face to the nape of Stiles’ neck and breathe deep the scent there. And yet he doesn’t let himself. Because he will not be Kate.

And then Stiles leaves. Almost as far as he could go without leaving the continent; Stiles goes to Washington DC for school. Derek aches all the time. Somehow it was bearable when he got the occasional scent, to see Stiles, to grab him and pull him from harm’s way. These little moments were all that Derek had, and now they’re gone.

It’s hard, but Derek is strong. People rely on him and he needs to be strong. The ache that he feels joins the rest of his pain and it becomes a tumult that keeps him awake and rocks his dreams with erotic images that are gruesomely swirled with blood and fire and death. Derek is falling apart, but he doesn’t let anyone see. He keeps it to himself.

And somehow he runs into Stiles in the middle of the summer. And they end up sitting down for burgers, on the same side of the booth so Stiles can show Derek pictures on his phone. And Derek doesn’t argue, he just looks at the images flicking by, and breathes deep of Stiles. His wolf rumbles contentedly in his chest.

Stiles is 20. He’s learned a lot. Too much. There’s something in his eyes that wasn’t there before. A wisdom, and knowing. It takes Derek’s breath away. Maybe it was always there and Derek had taken it for granted, because he still just looks like Stiles. Still smells like Stiles. And even though he’s more calm, he still buzzes with that almost otherworldly Stiles energy.

Stiles talks about what he’s learning. The pre-FBI program is a cake walk so far because of everything he learned from his dad combined with his Scooby Gang-style teen years. But college adds a layer he never thought too much about before: the psychology of the thing. Not just the “how to deal” but the “why did it happen?”

The conversation lags and Derek realizes, that just like always, Stiles has been doing all the talking. Derek doesn’t know what to add. His life is the same as ever. He’s reliable and dying inside and he can’t say anything.

“It’s Kate Argent, isn’t it?” Stiles asks suddenly.

He’s sitting close. His heart is steady, beating sure. His scent reeks of concern.

“Sorry?” Derek asks, feigning an over-full mouth of food, and bad hearing. Both of which are terrible excuses.

“I’ve been...” Stiles looks away, but it’s not shame. He seems to want to give Derek some kind of breathing room, but he doesn’t move away. “I’ve been reading a lot about psychology and... trauma. Abuse.”

Derek wants to recoil. Now Stiles will know him for what he really is. He’ll see that he’s been a monster all this time, that he’s becoming a monster. The wolf doesn’t recoil, he wants to push closer.

Stiles meets his eyes again, a hard look this time, and the wolf doesn’t even care, doesn’t feel challenged. His wolf wants to howl “mate” to the sky, and bare his throat.

“You’re not her,” Stiles says matter-of-factly. “You’ll never be her.” He doesn’t stop, typical Stiles, and the nervous rambling he’s famous for. Some of his old squeaky punctuation even creeps in. “I get it now. I was 16 and you’re older, and you thought you were taking advantage of me. I can see that. But it’s not the same as it was with you and Kate. It’s nothing like that. And, guess what Derek? I’m still here, ok?”

Derek wants to tell him that he’s not “here.” That he ran away as far as he could go. He’s just visiting now.

“And you’ll never be her,” Stiles continues. “Do you know how I know? Because in here,” he pokes Derek hard in the chest, and the wolf still doesn’t want to attack. “You care. You try to make people think you don’t. But you would die for any of us. You’d die for my father. You’d never let anything or anyone hurt him. Does that sound like Kate Argent?”

Derek’s face feels tight. No, that’s not Kate at all. He thinks of fire, and burning and the hot feel of smoke in the lungs, and the sounds of dying family. They aren’t real memories. He wasn’t there the night of the fire. But they seem so real; his mind makes them real. He wonders if Kate laughed.

“I need to go,” Derek says. His wolf fights. Stiles is here. Stiles understands. The wolf wants to stay with Stiles.

Derek doesn’t care. He can’t feel these things, he can’t afford to fall apart even if there’s someone to catch him.

“I’m around for a few more weeks before I go back,” Stiles says as he slides out of the booth. “Give me a call.”

Derek doesn’t call. 

Instead he goes by the Stilinski house and waits outside. He catches Stiles’ scent on the breeze. He doesn’t know what he’s waiting for. Nothing happens. 

Derek doesn’t call. 

Stiles leaves again.

And that’s it. Derek knows he’s missed his chance. Maybe his one chance to be happy. But he pushes that awful regret down with the rest of it, swallows it whole and lets it eat away at his insides.

And yet, he thinks about what Stiles said. About how Derek isn’t Kate. Would never be Kate. Could never be Kate. And despite the loss of Stiles, it somehow lightens something in Derek. And he begins to feel like maybe he could be living a life worth living. Maybe he’s living it now.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles shows up on his 21st birthday to surprise Derek.
> 
> Something in Derek finally breaks.

Derek isn’t sleeping. He’s doing what he does most nights around midnight: staring at the ceiling and hoping that sleep will find him, and that if it does it won’t be full of nightmares and awfulness. He just wants a sweet dream about Stiles. He gets them sometimes when he’s least expecting them. The good ones are never about sex. Whenever he dreams about Stiles and sex the dream turns bad; his mind is telling him it’s not right, that he’s preying on Stiles, and it turns those dreams nasty. The ones that stay good are always simple: Laying on the couch on a Sunday afternoon, warm sunshine filling the room, Stiles reading aloud from a book while Derek lays his head in Stiles’ lap. Or Derek’s personal favourite: they’re swimming at the lake on a hot summer day, splashing water at each other and racing to the shore; Derek always wins. It’s one of these dreams he’s hoping for when he finally succumbs to sleep.

And then there’s a knock at the door. He was trying too hard to fall asleep, and hadn’t been listening. The heartbeat is familiar, the obnoxious knock telling: Stiles. But that doesn’t make sense. It’s the middle of fall. The middle of term. Stiles should be at school all the way across the country.

Derek all but jumps out of bed, and rushes to the front door. He stops short and gathers himself before he opens it. “What?” He barks in his familiar grumpy tone, but he can’t help the smile that crosses his face after.

“See, this is the thing about werewolves,” Stiles says as he pushes his way in. “They’re never surprised. You cannot surprise a werewolf and it is ANNOYING! Sometimes, it’s nice to just… surprise somebody.” He turns toward Derek with a big grin on his face, and holds up a six-pack of beer. “I am 21, so drinking is yes!” He declares proudly before he goes into the kitchen and stows the beer in the fridge. “I bought that today, on my very own.” He slips his wallet out of his back pocket, takes his ID out and holds it up for Derek to see. “At midnight, on the dot, I stopped at the Beacon Hills Liquor Mart and picked up the very handsome six-pack that’s now got it’s own shelf in your fridge.” He puts the license away. “Seriously dude, you need some groceries.”

Stiles is 21.

Derek closes the door and crosses his arms. He’s less conflicted than before, and yet somehow more. Both he and the wolf want to reach out for Stiles now. And yet, Derek wants to see what Stiles has to say. Why is here? What is his motive?

“Alright, so I figured, if I can buy liquor all by my lonesome, I can absolutely make relationship decisions for myself, right?” Stiles says, stepping closer to Derek. “And before you tell me to get out in that sexy growly wolfy voice of yours, I just have to tell you that I’ve got all the time in the world man. I mean, 21 really is the last big milestone age, when you’re talking about maturity. So I don’t have any other good birthdays to use to throw myself at you. But maybe that’s a good thing. Because now I can just ambush you whenever I want. Maybe then I’ll be able to surprise you.”

They stand and stare at each other and Derek can feel the smile on his face, but maybe it looks predatory because Stiles still looks worried.

“Well?” Stiles demands. “Seriously Derek, say something.”

“What are you doing here?” Derek asks. Genuinely curious what brought Stiles all the way across the country.

“It’s my 21st birthday,” Stiles says, exasperated, as though it should be obvious.

“Ok,” Derek says, “so why aren’t you out with your college buddies getting drunk?”

Stiles looks around as though Derek could be asking someone else this question. “Did you miss the big speech about me coming here on my 21st birthday to try and surprise you and to throw myself at you again? Or was that all in my head?”

Derek’s hands fall to his sides. “Me?” He asks. “You came back to Beacon Hills on your birthday, to see me?”

Stiles nods. “That’s what I’m saying dude,” he replies.

Derek has no words, he just stands in shock. He’s pretty sure his wolf is telling him he’s been an idiot, gloating in some growly inside-thoughts wolf way.

“If it’s not tonight, I’ve got all the time in the world,” Stiles sighs as he walks toward the door, ready to let himself out. “I can wait.”

Derek puts an arm out and blocks the exit. “You never smell like anyone else,” he says, suddenly having that realization.

“Well that’s a creepy thing to say,” Stiles says before adding: “why should I smell like anyone else?”

“If you were… with someone else… you’d smell like them,” Derek says. “When you have a close relationship with someone…”

“You mean when you have sex with someone?” Stiles asks.

Derek nods and meets Stiles’ eye. “Sharing beds and being in close quarters all the time, you take on some of their smell. You never smell like anyone else.” It’s a question, they both feel it. But Derek’s too afraid to ask it.

“That’s cause I belong to you sourwolf,” Stiles says softly with a grin.

Derek’s wolf growls happily, and this time Derek can’t keep it in and it rumbles from his throat. But he still doesn’t move. He’s afraid.

Stiles steps closer tentatively, like he’s waiting for a harsh word or a threatening growl, or the flash of eyes or teeth.

Derek’s taken a lot of time to think about what Stiles said. To think about how he’ll never be Kate Argent. And he knows it’s true now. He needed all this time to come to terms with the fact that he would never do the things she did. She’d been using him from the very start for her motives. Derek never had any intention to use Stiles. He just felt the pull toward him, just wanted him, just needed him.

Stiles steps even closer and his breath is on Derek’s face; hot and sweet and there’s no alcohol in it at all. No liquid courage. Just Stiles’ courage.

“Derek?” Stiles is asking if this is ok. Doesn’t want to cross a boundary. And when did this come about Derek’s consent, and Derek’s wellbeing?

“Stiles,” Derek says and he lets out all of the longing and need with it. It comes out like a growl and then tapers to a whine. Years of hurt and pain tumble out with it.

Stiles puts his hands on Derek’s shoulders, and slides his beautiful fingers around to the back of Derek’s neck; such a vulnerable place. But the wolf loves it, the wolf submits. Derek bows his head and lets Stiles rub hard circles there, pressing the muscles into relaxation.

“It’s ok,” Stiles says, moving his hands around to Derek’s cheeks so he can tilt his face up and their eyes can meet again. “I’m here now. Everything’s going to be ok.”

And then Derek breaks. Having been given permission to give in, to let go, he does. And it’s awful. His stomach cramps up, and he rushes to the bathroom where he vomits into the toilet and it feels like every bad thing that’s been writhing in his body like a nest of snakes comes out and gets flushed away. It seems like he vomits for hours and hours, spewing out years of hatred and malice. And all the while Stiles is there; the comforting hand on his back rubbing circles, the gentle voice asking if he’s ok. Stiles is always there through it all; not as a reminder of the bad things, but as a balm to it. Stiles is saving him again.

And finally when there’s nothing left in Derek’s body and he can barely walk from the exhaustion dragging him down, Stiles helps him back to the bedroom, and curls up around him while they sleep. And Derek dreams. And it’s a good dream. One of the happy Stiles dreams with warmth and ease and no agenda except happiness.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek wakes up the morning after his meltdown, and Stiles is close, holding him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter that warrants the E rating... cause I am incapable of writing romance with no smut apparently. ;)

Derek’s body feels fine, but as he wakes, it’s almost like his soul creaks. Like a bad knee when a storm rolls in, or so he’s heard. Werewolf healing doesn’t really lend to bad joints. But there’s a soreness at his core, like tight muscles finally released after too long tensed up.

“You ok?” Stiles’ voice is a whisper against his temple.

Derek feels safe, comfortable, warm. Home, his wolf says, followed by: mate. As he reaches inside himself, Derek finds that tangle of bad and wrong and evil that he’d stored down inside himself is gone. Purged. He feels clean somehow.

“Derek?” Stiles’ voice is a little worried now, his heartbeat picking up. His hands rub gentle and soft against the tank that Derek wore to sleep. The tank that is plastered to his body with old sweat. Sweat from the night before when he was sick and Stiles took care of him. “Derek, are you ok? Please answer me.” He’s not quite panicking yet, but he’s getting there. Reassure him, Derek thinks. The wolf agrees.

Derek’s eyes open slowly and he’s looking at a t-shirt up close and personal. Warm arms are wrapped around him and his face is all but planted into Stiles’ chest. He tilts his head back and looks up into Stiles’ face. And he smiles. It almost hurts his face for how out of practice he is, but he smiles. “I’m good,” he says softly. He blinks, letting himself come up from sleep slowly. Normally it’s a jolted affair. Either he’s awakened from a nightmare in a bolt of fear, or he wakes from pure happiness to being alone again and for the foreseeable future. But not this time. This time he’s surrounded by Stiles who wants to stay, Stiles who wants to be there, Stiles who smells so good.

Derek presses his face forward into Stiles’ chest and opens his mouth to suck in the scent through his nose and mouth. It’s intoxicating so close. Derek’s arms wrap around Stiles and pull him in closer as he mouths wetly at Stiles’ t-shirt.

Stiles’ hands move gently over Derek’s body, rubbing comfort into every muscle and bit of skin. And then hands are in Derek’s hair, tickling scalp and brushing through hair. Derek groans loud, and it sounds like a sob. And then it becomes a sob, and he can’t remember the last time he cried.

“It’s ok,” Stiles’ voice is soft and calming and there’s so much care and concern in it, and that doesn’t help. “I…” his voice falters, like he wants to say something and changes his mind. His heartbeat skips a little before it returns to normal. “I’m here, Derek.”

The sound of his name on Stiles’ tongue does things to Derek inside, tugs on something and ties it in knots and he rubs the tears from his face against warm chest before he pushes back and looks into Stiles’ beautiful brown eyes. His hands are fisted at the back of Stiles’ t-shirt and he can’t untangle them, the wolf won’t let go, and Derek doesn’t want to.

Stiles’ hands move to Derek’s cheeks and his thumbs wipe the tears away.

“I’m sorry,” Derek says automatically. He’s not supposed to breakdown, he’s supposed to be strong for everyone. But letting this torrent out, letting go of everything, it hurts too much. He hadn't expected it to hurt. He hadn't expected to ever be rid of it at all. But when he pushes down inside himself, it’s gone. It’s a big blank canvas for him to start new with.

Stiles smiles, and it’s that goofy, stupid smile that slowly wormed its way under Derek’s skin, that made him love Stiles before he even knew that he did. “For what?” Stiles asks. “Nothing to be sorry for. You know you’re allowed to have emotions, right?”

Derek feels his face start to crumble again, feels everything welling to the surface. Can’t it just be done? When will it be done? His wolf fights for control, tries to tell him to give in and be happy, that’s where it’s going wrong. Derek is afraid to be happy, afraid that this is a fleeting moment. And he’s grieving for something he hasn’t lost, something he doesn’t even really have… yet.

“Come on big guy,” Stiles says, his voice still tender but full of the charm and wit that Derek loves so much. “Talk to me here. What’s going on up in that stupid handsome head of yours?”

Derek almost chokes on the laughter that comes up his throat its so unexpected. His defences drop a little, and he feels muscles that he didn’t realize had gone tense start to loosen again. “My handsome head?”

Stiles smiles wider. “There’s that sarcasm I know and love.”

Derek’s hands tighten, twisting in Stiles’ t-shirt before he voices his fears. After showing Stiles this, pouring his emotion out, he is laid bare and can’t hide anything else. He’s so tired of fighting his wolf when it comes to Stiles, so he just gives in. “Why are you here?”

“Do you remember last night?” Stiles asks. “Or is this one of those emotional amnesia things? I didn’t say the thing you wanted to hear, so you’ve got some selective memory thing going on or-”

“Stiles,” Derek says, his voice firmer now. Stiles is grounding him, making him feel stronger.

“Do you remember the 21st birthday speech? Cause really, I practiced that speech a lot and this is the second time you’ve totally disregarded my carefully prepared speech and-”

“I remember the speech,” Derek says, “it was a good speech. But… what does it mean? I don’t know… what you want from me?”

Stiles huffs in frustration. “I need to hurt all the people who ever made you think that people are just out to use you all the time,” he says angrily. “I just want you Derek. That’s all. I want to be with you.”

“But you… live across the country… I don’t know what you want from me,” Derek says again.

Stiles smiles again. “You really are shitty at asking direct questions when it comes to emotional stuff, huh?” He asks. “Are you trying to ask me if this is casual for me?”

Derek searches his brain. What is he asking? He just nods. It seems like a legitimate question. Stiles lives on the other side of the continent. What can he hope to come of this?

“I have been waiting for you to come around for five years Derek,” Stiles says. “Do you really think this is a casual thing for me?”

“But… DC and college and…”

Stiles stops his words with a kiss, pulling Derek in and kissing him softly. The wolf hums inside him, it feels almost like the purr of a cat in his chest.

“Wow,” Stiles says as he pulls back. “And not, like, a good wow. Cause you still… taste like vomit. So that was awful. Let’s just forget that was our first kiss, and we are going to have the best do-over ever once you’ve brushed your teeth, and probably showered. You should definitely shower.”

Derek laughs. It rolls out of him and it won’t stop and it fills up the hole in him that was created by all the evil he’d held inside for so long. His fingers finally release from Stiles’ shirt now that the wolf is sure that Stiles is staying. Derek rolls onto his back on the bed, and the laughter just keeps coming up until his stomach starts to hurt and his vocal cords feel raw. Stiles is laughing too, his hands casually touching Derek’s body, and when Derek opens his eyes Stiles is right there grinning down at him.

“I like it when you laugh,” Stiles says, like it's such a simple thing to like things about Derek Hale.

“What else do you like about me?” Derek asks boldly, feeling out this new thing between them.

“Your hands,” Stiles says. “I’ve always had a thing for your hands.” He slips one of his hands into Derek’s and intertwines their fingers. Their palms fit together perfectly, fingers slotted against each other.

Derek hums with contentment again. It’s almost a growl, but with all of the aggression stripped from it.

“That sound you keep making is pretty good,” Stiles says, his other hand traveling up to tickle at Derek’s throat. Then he wraps his long fingers around Derek’s neck, and it should feel like a threat. But it doesn’t. Derek tips his head back and bares his throat to Stiles, who gasps at the implication. Stiles, who knows all of the wolf things. Who knows exactly what this means. Fingers tickle along Derek’s throat, across his pulse point, tracing the line of his jaw. And then Stiles leans over and presses a kiss to his carotid artery. 

Another hum rises in Derek’s chest. This is what it means to feel at peace. This is the beginnings of happiness. A small part of Derek still doubts that it can last. But the wolf is making him live in the moment, so he relaxes at the press of Stiles’ lips.

“I’m yours,” Stiles says into his skin. And then he continues talking. One of the things Derek has always hated over the years, but he never really hated it, he always kinda loved it. “But, as romantic and awesome as this is, you are really gross dude. How can you not smell yourself right now?”

Derek draws his attention away from Stiles, his smell, the touch of his lips and fingers, and realizes that Stiles is right. Derek smells like old sickness. Like he sweated out a toxin, or wolfsbane the night before.

“Shower,” Derek repeats Stiles' earlier words.

“Shower,” Stiles confirms, still speaking against Derek’s throat.

Derek sits up and meets Stiles’ eyes once more before he reluctantly rolls from the bed. “You coming?” He asks as casually as he’s able on his way to the bathroom. He doesn’t want to be parted from Stiles right now. He feels vulnerable, and he wants to make sure Stiles is staying for the day at least.

“I think you can handle bathing yourself,” Stiles says with a wink. “I’m going to change the sheets.”

Derek nods. Makes sense. His sweat covers the sheets as well. The whole room smells like stale sickness. It frightens Derek suddenly that he’d been keeping something so dangerous locked away inside himself. He hesitates in the doorway.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere,” Stiles says as he makes his way to the closet and finds a new set of sheets.

“Stiles?”

“Hmmm?” Stiles looks up from where he’s ripping the old sheets from the mattress.

“Thank you.”

Stiles’ face lights up. “Wait, wait wait,” he pauses dramatically. “Where’d I put my phone? Can I get a recording of that? I’m going to make it your ringtone!”

Derek scowls, but it’s full of fondness. “Shut up, Stiles,” he barks before striding into the bathroom and turning on the shower. He’s starting to feel like himself again.

Washing the sweat off and brushing his teeth helps, and when he emerges from the bathroom wrapped in a towel he feels like a new person. He feels stronger and lighter, like he’d been towing a 300 pound weight around for most of his life.

“There he is!” Stiles greets him enthusiastically without looking up from his phone. He’s sitting at the head of a perfectly made bed. “Sorry, give me five minutes. Just clearing up a few… emails… and then… done!” He tosses the phone onto the nightstand and looks up, his jaw dropping immediately, and awkward Stiles makes an appearance, fumbling with his hands and trying not to stare.

Derek had planned to get dressed, but this is way more fun. And he’s feeling playful now that his spirit is lighter. “What?” He asks, as stern-faced as he can manage. “Did I miss a spot or something?” He looks down and runs his hands from his chest down his stomach.

Stiles groans from the bed.

Derek can’t help but grin ear to ear like a hungry wolf.

Stiles gets up from the bed and walks to him, and there’s no hesitation this time, he just walks right into Derek’s space and grabs Derek’s shoulders hard. His grip is strong. It makes Derek’s skin ripple with want.

“Derek,” Stiles is serious suddenly. “We don’t have to… I know it’s a big deal for you… all these years and everything… we don’t have to do… that…” It’s so awkward that Stiles just won’t say “have sex,” and it makes Derek smile fondly at him.

“I do want,” Derek says, “a lot. But you have to know something first.”

Stiles nods and swallows heavily. He’s probably waiting for some weird werewolf sex revelation. He’s been asking the pack odd sex questions for years after doing some pretty in depth research.

“You feel… you smell…”

“Good, I hope?” Stiles says to break the ice.

It works. “So good,” Derek admits. And then he does the thing he’s always wanted to do. He grabs Stiles by the waist and pulls him close. Derek presses his face into Stiles’ neck and breathes in deep. It’s like a drug. He feels high. “You smell… so good.” The raw want in his voice is infectious, and Stiles’ pulse skyrockets. Like a small explosion, the room fills with the smell of arousal.

Derek pulls back and looks into Stiles’ face again. “But you smell like… it’s like…”

“Oh my god Derek, spit it out already!” Stiles demands.

“Mate, ok?” Derek says angrily, worried that the moment is ruined. He has to continue before Stiles says it’s ok, when he doesn’t understand what it means. “You smell like mate to me. So if we have sex… it’s a big deal for me, ok?” He doesn’t want to lay on Stiles that if they have sex, he’ll never want anyone else again. But that’s the way his mother explained it when he was young. “When you find your mate, Derek, you’ll just know. And that’s it, you’re stuck with them for life.” And at that point she looked at her husband with such love in her eyes that Derek was excited to one day feel the same way.

“Is that all?” Stiles asks, and Derek’s heart swoops in his chest and feels like it might start building a new darkness deep inside. “I’ve read about mates. It’s like a bonding thing, right? Stuck together for life and all that.”

Derek blinks at him, unsure where Stiles is going. If he knows it’s a big deal, why is he treating it so casually?

“Yeah, it’s cool,” he answers Derek’s expression. “I’m in.”

“You’re… in?” Derek asks warily.

“Yeah. I'm in,” Stiles repeats. “Don’t you remember that first time you shut me down? That first conversation we had? And I said-”

“You’re not getting rid of me that easy,” Derek finishes, remembering that night very well.

“Yeah, I’m down. I’m in,” Stiles says. “I’m in it for the long haul.”

Derek doesn’t answer, doesn’t move, he’s in shock.

“We good?” Stiles asks, as though he didn’t just tell Derek they could spend their lives together.

Derek still doesn’t answer. His brain is in overload. The last day has taken its toll.

Stiles leans forward and kisses Derek softly. He sets his hands to Derek’s throat, and the wolf is happy. The wolf wants to roll over and show his belly. Derek opens his mouth to Stiles and they trade air, but no tongues, just tasting each other for the first time. Stiles was right, the morning/vomit breath kiss does _not_ count.

When they break away it’s not because they’re out of breath, or feeling needy and want to move things faster. They just look at each other, and it’s soft and Derek doesn’t know what to do. He’s laid bare emotionally and physically and he has no idea what to do with himself. So he gives himself over to Stiles.

Stiles, who takes the lead so easily as if he’s been waiting for his cue all along. He tangles his fingers with Derek’s and pulls him toward the bed. He presses Derek softly toward the mattress. Derek crawls up on the duvet and fresh sheets, feeling the crisp cleanness against his skin. He gives into his wolf, and lays down, baring his belly.

Stiles slowly undresses. There’s excitement, but no hurry in the movements. His t-shirt drifts to the floor. His jeans and boxers are pushed down slowly. And somehow when Derek looks at Stiles naked for the first time, it’s like he’s seen him a million times before. They know each other, they’ve always known each other. It feels old and new at the same time.

Stiles unwraps the towel around Derek’s waist, and pulls it out from underneath him. And here it is. The moment they’ve both waited years for. But Stiles doesn’t rush. Doesn’t lay down on top of Derek and rut against him. Doesn’t press their skin together in a rush to get off. Instead he traces lines along Derek’s entire body with his fingertips. He names some of the muscle groups aloud as he goes. He gets particular joy from finding the ticklish places on Derek’s body, and there are way more than even Derek knew about himself. 

Stiles’ joy smells like honey and sunshine. Derek wants to smell it all the time. Derek relishes in the fact that he can make Stiles smell of joy.

After his fingers, Stiles uses his mouth the same way, tracing all the lines and ticklish places with his lips and tongue.

It’s hot and then cold and goosebumps and little nips with teeth. And it makes Derek writhe and whimper and growl and laugh. It’s all beautiful and wonderful things. The smell of Stiles’ joy gets stronger, mixes with his lust. And it’s perfect and Derek never wants it to end.

Stiles kisses back up Derek’s body and moves to kiss his mouth. Derek bares his throat again instead. This time instead of a kiss, Stiles bites lightly along the tender skin of his throat. Derek’s chest hums again. So this is happiness, he thinks. His body tingles everywhere. Stiles pulls Derek's face around with a firm hand and they kiss. This time they share tongues, slipping and sliding against each other.

A hot flush of arousal shoots through Derek. Stiles’ tongue is a wonder. It’s hot and wet and what other beautiful things it could do. He groans around Stiles’ tongue when he sucks messily at it.

Stiles tips his head to part their mouths, but press their foreheads together instead. So they are still joined and can breathe each other’s air.

“What do you want Derek?” Stiles asks.

The words shiver against Derek’s lips, sending a cascade down his entire body. What does he want? How should he know? He’s spent too much time pretending he doesn’t want anything. Everything in his head is so mixed up. All he knows is that he wants Stiles to stay. He wants to keep him. That’s the only clear thought.

The wolf beats Derek to it, and a whimper trembles out of him. Derek never whimpers, it doesn’t suit a strong wolf. Whimpers are for weakness and submission, and yet that’s what Derek’s doing. Showing his weakness to his mate. It’s a gift.

Stiles understands, pulling back to look at Derek with shock on his face. He knows enough about wolves to understand how this works. The baring of his throat, twice, laying on his back and baring his stomach, the whimper. And then Stiles nods, as though it’s as simple as that. He moves away, and Derek panics for a moment, afraid he’s done the wrong thing. Stiles doesn’t want a weak mate, he wants someone strong that will pin him to the mattress and take what he wants; the person Derek’s always pretended to be. And that’s a part of Derek too, but right now he’s vulnerable.

“Don’t worry,” Stiles reassures when he walks across the room. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Derek’s entire body relaxes back into the bed, and that pleased hum rumbles his chest again.

“Have I told you how much I love that fucking sound?” Stiles asks as he picks up his jeans and fishes around in the pockets. He pulls something out and returns to the bed. “Cause I fucking love that noise.” He kneels on the bed and leans over to kiss Derek again. So soft and gentle, as though he thinks Derek might break from something as simple as a hard and passionate kiss.

Derek makes the sound again, the wolf-noise travelling through his human chest and making him buzz all over.

Stiles groans and kisses his way back down Derek’s throat to his chest.

Derek reaches over and finds Stiles’ hand, prying at the fingers that are clutching whatever was in his jeans.

Stiles sits back on his heels and holds up the little bottle dramatically. “I came fully prepared,” he says simply. It’s a little clear bottle of lube. Something in Derek is satisfied to see the seal at the top of the bottle still in tact. As though it means that Stiles is his, and his alone. The very idea makes Derek hum again.

Stiles’ eyes roll back in his head, and he drops back down to kiss Derek.

He sits back again, fiddling with the seal on top of the bottle.

“Ok, so I’m just gonna rolls with this,” Stiles says simple. “You haven’t been super vocal. But I’m going to trust that if anything is going in any way that you don’t want you’re going to tell me, ok?”

“Ok,” Derek says, and he can’t remember the last time he said a word. His voice feels like gravel.

Stiles looks up, eyebrows raised at Derek’s sudden conversational skills. “So, you’re with me then?” He asks, still trying to get the seal off the bottle.

Derek sits up, slips a hand to the back of Stiles’ neck and pulls him in for a kiss. “I’m with you,” he says against Stiles’ lips as they part. And then he grabs the bottle and rips the seal from the top before handing it back. Derek lays back on the bed and waits, his whole body thrumming with excitement.

“Ok, but just like, one more thing before we move along?” Stiles asks, squinting almost like he’s worried Derek will deny him anything. Derek would get him the moon if he could.

“What?” Derek barks, falling into familiar habits.

“Can you make that noise just one more time?” Stiles gushes out. “It’s, like, my new favourite thing in the world.”

Derek laughs and laughs and pulls Stiles to him and rolls with him in the bed, their bodies tight together and happiness leaks from Stiles’ every pore. He kisses Stiles’ face and then flops back onto his back, and as soon as the laughter fades, while Stiles is clutched close to him and they’re looking into each other’s eyes, he lets out the humming little growl that means happiness and vibrates his chest.

Stiles’ shivers all over. “It’s a good noise, right?” He asks, self consciously. “It’s just… I’ve never heard you make it before.”

Derek smiles, and his face hurts from smiling so much. “It’s a very good noise.”

Stiles nuzzles into Derek’s neck, forcing him to bare his throat again, and Derek loves it.

Stiles throws a leg over Derek’s hips and sits on top of him, brushing against his excitement.

Derek groans and throws his head back into the pillows.

“That’s a good noise too,” Stiles says, “close second behind that other one. I’m liking all these new noises.”

“They’re just for you,” Derek says seriously.

“Well good,” Stiles says dramatically as he pours lube over his fingers like it’s no big deal. Like he prepares to have sex with Derek every day. “I definitely don’t want you making those noises for anyone else. They’re mine now.”

The possessiveness in those words warms Derek to the core, and he hums his happy noise again.

Stiles shivers. “Seriously dude. I can feel it in every part of your body, that noise,” he says, “it’s doing things to me.”

“Good things I hope,” Derek replies, wiggling his body a little and making Stiles groan.

“Really good things,” Stiles says, “just never make that noise while anyone else is around. I don’t know if I’ll be able to control myself.”

And then Stiles leans over him, on his hands and knees over Derek’s body, caging him in. But it doesn’t feel like he’s trapped. Derek feels… home.

Stiles kisses him softly, propped on one arm, while his other hand slips quietly behind him.

Derek doesn’t have the control to help. He wants to, wants to touch Stiles and help him get ready. But he’s afraid to hurt him. Afraid he’ll rush. So he lets Stiles get himself ready.

It seems to take forever, but he keeps kissing Derek and making noises into his mouth, and so Derek doesn’t mind that it takes a long time. It’ll be better that way. Stiles rocks forward sometimes, away from his own fingers, but Derek holds him steady, hands on his face to keep their lips lined up. When Stiles’ noises die down, Derek hums the small happy growl right into Stiles’ mouth and it makes Stiles move faster.

Finally Stiles breaks the kiss and meets Derek’s eye. “You ready big guy?” He asks.

Derek stops for a moment to take in everything, and make sure they’re both ready. Stiles’ heartbeat is racing with excitement, not fear, and he smells only like arousal.

“I’m ready now,” Derek says, and he means it. Not just about that moment, but about all the time leading up to it. He’s ready to be with Stiles now. And not just in bed, but in life.

Stiles’ face sobers a little at that, and his heart rate jumps again. And then he just nods, sits up, he takes Derek in hand and he’s sinking down slowly.

Derek’s entire body feels like it’s on fire. Stiles’ body is hot and tight around him, squeezing pleasure from every pore. The first slide all the way down is so slow, Derek is starting to wonder if it’s even real, or if he’s dreaming. And then Stiles is seated in his lap, panting down at him, his entire body trembling around Derek, trying to wring pleasure from him so quickly.

“It’s not…” Derek gasps, fisting his hands in the sheets. “Going to… be… long.”

“You’re telling me,” Stiles replies.

Derek opens his mouth to speak again, but Stiles tenses his thighs and pushes up. And how does the upstroke feel more intense, Stiles’ body is trying to hold Derek inside, fighting to keep him there. And it feels… so much that Derek isn’t sure what to do with himself.

Stiles’ jaw drops open as he sinks down again, and he stops and sits still, body heaving with excited breaths. His heart beats a fast rhythm, and he smells wonderful. Derek can’t try to place any of the scents that melt together around him. It’s just Stiles. Pure Stiles.

“Derek,” Stiles growls. Derek’s never heard him growl before, never heard him demand or threaten when it wasn’t twinged with self doubt or anxiety that he could smell like acrid smoke in the air. But when Derek’s name rolls off his tongue it’s pure and absolute and commanding. “Touch me. Touch my skin. Derek, touch my skin.”

Derek uncurls his fingers from the sheets and runs his fingers up Stiles’ thighs, against the grain of the hair there, to hips that are rolling in circles, driving Derek crazy. His fingers trail further up to grab at ribcage, and then he can’t go further, not without sitting up, and his body wants to lay prone for Stiles, keep showing his belly, keep tilting his head back and giving Stiles unfettered access to his throat.

Stiles tips forward as though hearing Derek’s thoughts, propping himself up on his hands. Derek is still deep within him, feeling his pulse from the inside, the way Stiles’ body shivers and quakes with pleasure even though they aren’t moving.

Derek’s hands travel up Stiles’ chest to his shoulders and his neck and into his hair. That hair, that’s grown longer, so good for taking handfuls. Derek doesn’t grab, doesn’t hold, he caresses.

Stiles shivers at the contact, his skin rippling as the sensation travels down his body to where they’re connected. Stiles kisses him, and once their mouths are open to one another he starts to move again. Quicker this time. Shallower, but faster as his hips rock up and back. Stiles groans into his mouth, and Derek moans back an answering call. Stiles moves harder, forcing his body down against Derek, onto him with force, rocking the bed underneath them; it feels like the whole world is rocking around them.

Stiles breaks the kiss to breathe, but keeps his face close, rubbing cheek against Derek. “Oh god Derek,” he gasps so quiet, just for Derek to hear. “Oh god, this is… not what I ever… thought…” the thought trails away, and Derek doesn’t need to ask if it’s better. He can feel it and smell it and sense it in the body that he’s pressed into. “Derek. Derek. Derek,” Stiles groans his name on repeat like he’s lost any other words.

Derek is lost in his joy, and he hums his happiness out again. It’s almost uncontrollable as it rolls out of him in wave after wave of little growls that shake his vocal cords. And he might try to control it, if Stiles hadn’t told him how much he loves it.

“Oh god!” Stiles presses his face against Derek’s throat. “Oh god I fucking love that sound!” He wails against Derek’s skin, mouthing at tender throat, pulse point, life blood. And Stiles comes, his whole body wracked with sensation, shaking and slamming down against Derek’s body, and tightening all around as he calls out Derek’s name out over and over.

The sensation is too much, and Derek’s body lets go. The humming fills him up, buzzing through every limb and coursing through every part of him, every single tiny atom. And he comes. His fingers are still gentle in Stiles’ hair, even now in release the wolf won’t clamp down and take over. The wolf is still giving in.

As the world comes back into focus, Derek is so happy he thinks he could die. Stiles is everywhere. The scent of his sex, his sweat, his joy is all around. Derek is still inside him, their bodies held still and relaxed in the moments after sex, still one as Stiles breathes heavily against Derek’s chest. Their sweat and come is sticking their bodies together, and Derek doesn’t care.

“I can’t move,” Stiles mouths against Derek’s breastbone.

“You don’t have to,” Derek says quietly.

“But, like, I actually don’t think I can move,” Stiles replies, his nose pressed awkwardly to Derek’s chest. “You broke me. That’s me: officially broken for life.”

Derek chuckles softly. God he missed laughing, why did he stop doing it for so long?

“Mmmmm,” Stiles groans, “it’s good. With the laughing. I like it. Keep that up mister.”

Derek’s fingers are still softly running through Stiles’ hair. It’s a perfect moment.

“Just gonna,” Stiles’ voice is sleepy. “Maybe we just… is it ok?… sleep like this? Can you breathe ok?”

“I’m good,” Derek says. “Go to sleep Stiles.”

“If you insist,” Stiles says, and it comes out so tired he almost sounds drunk.

Mate, the wolf says, wants to shout from the rooftops.

“Mate,” Derek says softly over Stiles’ sweet, perfect little snores.


End file.
